Absolution
by J. D. Dunsany
Summary: An old soldier of the Empire remembers a famous battle, while one of the participants provides a very different perspective.


**Absolution**

I was there at the storming of Forscheim Ridge… Alright, alright. Laugh if you want, but I was. The breaking of the Gnashfire Clan. The charge of the glorious Seventh. I was there.

And if you buy me a drink, I'll tell you all about it…

_This is the place. Holy Sigmar, this is the place. All around me, my fellow penitents mutter and murmur – prayers, mostly. Some are lost in trances, holy visions of death and glory enveloping their minds like blood-dipped shrouds. Old Joachim is chanting, his lined, weathered face spotted with spittle._

_But I just stand, remembering. Seeing._

_I am not seeing the orcs encamped on the ridge. I do not see their blasphemous banners rippling and snapping in the wind. I do not hear their guttural, rhythmic chanting. I do not feel the subtle tremors beneath my feet._

_What I am remembering is the event that set me on the path of penitence seven long years ago. It is what has tortured my soul far more than any self-inflicted pain ever could. It is what has led me here. Again._

_Tears begin to prick my eyes. I think they are of gratitude. Truly, the Lord Sigmar is merciful._

The Gnashfire Clan was big and nasty. Nastier than any orc warhost I've fought before or since. They'd sacked Kusseldorf and Schwanzig and were marching on Averheim with murder in whatever shrivelled hunks of flesh that passed for their hearts. General von Deitz had been commissioned with the task of delaying the main body of the host on the fields to the east of the city, while the elector and his council prepared for a long siege. Now, I know Deitz ain't popular round these parts, but I'll say this for him. He's no fool. He knew he'd been handed a suicide job. So, he did what any good soldier would do – what he knew was _right_.

He took the Seventh Averland Infantry and marched them to meet the enemy as quickly as he damned well could.

A few days later, we encountered orcish scouts at the fords at Fiedler's Ditch and, half a day afterwards, Meier's Green. Heheh. They were surprised to see us. I can tell you that.

It was at Meier's Green that we picked up a group of flagellants – freaks and madmen who had left their old lives to pursue a 'higher calling'. Bunch of weirdos, if you ask me.

But, they could fight. Oh, yes, they could fight alright…

_My body aches. My left arm throbs incessantly, where the rusted blade of an orcish berserker broke the skin. I don't care._

_The pain of this mortal body is nothing compared to the anguish I feel whenever I think of…_

_Marianna._

_Her face turns to me, smiling. Her eyes are bright with life and laughter. We had come to the ridge to talk and well… be together. She had promised herself to me the night before, walking the __battlements of my father's castle – a castle whose empty broken shell is now an eternal reproach to me. And a just one._

_She turns to me, smiling. And I look past her – to the stunted copse of trees and the hunched, grotesque figures stalking towards us from their shadows._

_I call out a strangled warning and she turns back in surprise. I reach for a sword that does not hang at my belt. It was love, not battle, that preoccupied my thoughts when I dressed this morning._

_They are upon her, dirty blades glinting dully in the weak morning light. Red blooms upon her dress and she screams._

_And I…_

_I run._

Well, the orcs had camped on the ridge, hadn't they? Even Deitz wouldn't order an attack up that slope. It would be suicide.

In the end, the decision was taken out of his hands.

_I run, charging towards the orc lines. It has been a long time since I held a sword. A simple wooden post, studded with long, rusted nails, is my weapon now._

_That, and my anger. And my shame._

_They are enough._

Well, we just stood there gaping. There must have been a couple of hundred of those zealots charging towards the orc lines, all following their leader. You should have heard the noise. Prayers. Singing. Screaming. Yelling.

I think the greenskins were as astonished as we were. But it didn't take them long to recover. Soon, black arrows were falling on the flagellant mob and desperate men with only sackcloth and their faith to protect them were dying in droves.

And then Dietz scrambled up on his charger and drew his sword.

"The faithful of Sigmar have shown us the way," he said. "To honour and glory!"

Yeah, right. I could see the look in his eyes from where I was standing. He didn't have a bloody clue what was going on either.

But we followed him anyway.

_I run and the chains of despair that have wrapped themselves around me ever since that day fall away from my limbs._

_I feel… strong. Certain._

_There is vengeance here, if I want it._

_Vengeance and much much more._

_Redemption._

We charged. Dear Lord, we were a rabble. No sense of shape to us whatsoever.

I was far enough back to see those flagellants hit the orc lines. They should have been wiped out – and some of them did go down, it's true. But their leader…

I've never seen courage like it.

_I vault over the haphazardly planted line of stakes, my makeshift morningstar crashing into an orc's shoulder. It grunts in pain, but I keep on running. At the centre of their lines is the orcish warchief, his face twisting into a mask of bloodlust and fury._

_"Sigmar!" I cry, as I race towards him. "Sigmar!"_

_There are tears in my eyes._

_"Sigmar!"_

I saw what he did, that strange young man in tattered robes and dirty bandages. The orc chief towered over him, bellowing its hatred, a monstrous cleaver gripped in its paw. Twice the flagellant was struck. After the second blow, his left arm was hanging off at the shoulder, but he didn't falter. He just kept swinging that bloody morningstar. Time and time and time again.

That fight should have been over in seconds. It lasted a minute and a half. Long enough for Dietz and his vanguard to fight their way through to the orcish leader and finish him off. Long enough for the Seventh to win the day.

But, I often wonder about that raving madman who led the charge at Forscheim Ridge. What made him do it? What kind of… force drove him on?

_Life leaks from my body in streams of red._

_The din of battle fades to a muffled roar._

_In my mind, I see her…_

_…so beautiful…_

_…turning to me…_

_…she smiles…_

_… and, finally…_

_…I…_

_…smile…_

_… too…_


End file.
